


Drift

by WhatHaveWeDone



Category: Thunderbirds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatHaveWeDone/pseuds/WhatHaveWeDone
Summary: Virgil and John in a bit of a bind. This is a bit of a bland summary because not even I know what's going to happen next! Some perfectly-understandable-given-the-situation swearing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should say sorry for this first chapter, but I'm really not. So sorrynotsorry. :)

"Virgil. Virgil! Wake up. You need to open your eyes and tell me what to do." John's voice was echoing oddly and he could be heard rustling around.

"You know what to do." Virgil muttered, wishing John would be quiet and let him sleep.

"Yes," John agreed, shaking his shoulder "But you are going to tell me anyway, and you know why that is?"

Virgil opened his eyes to see John crouching beside him, eyes piercing and a thin trickle of blood trailing down his cheek. "Because I'm going into shock?" He said. 

"Yes, you're going into shock. And what do you do when that happens?"

"Keep the patient awake and hydrated and as warm as possible." Virgil reeled off, the information as familiar to him as the controls of Thunderbird 2. That was basic first aid, something they'd all been drilled in.

"Exactly. That's what I'm trying to do but you are damn well going to pull your weight, you got it?" John sounded surprisingly unruffled considering, but then that was one of his areas of expertise: to be the one exuding calm when it was all going to shit. 

Virgil felt something tucked around him – John's jacket by the colour of it. That might be a bad idea; John would need that if they were here for much longer but Virgil couldn't find it within him to protest as he felt the residual body warmth of his brother seep into him from the coat. The contrast between that and the snow beneath him was extreme and soothed his aching head as well as the lancing pain in his leg. 

He tried to suppress a shudder – could have been from pain or cold or fear and asked "Who's idea was this anyway?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Let's not get into that right now." John replied, removing his watch. Virgil gave a chuckle at that, not surprised that John didn't want to discuss it. He was the one who wanted to come to the observatory after all. 

But he didn't press it, instead asking "What are you doing?"

John didn't look up as he reached into a pocket in his trousers for a small toolkit and the smallest screwdriver Virgil had ever seen. "I'm seeing if we will have enough battery power to modulate our comms signal. Probably not very much or for very long but if it works it might be the equivalent of firing a flare, but for the radio." 

Virgil latched on to the words, forcing himself to make sense of the meaning to help him stay awake. It was difficult but Virgil Tracy didn't give up just because things were difficult. He fought against the tug of sleep to understand that John had a plan to call for help.

John shifted in the confined space, trying to make the most of the meagre light from their torches. It bounced oddly off the pale walls, but they were fortunate that they hadn't kept them in their packs or they would have  also been swept away. John was being careful not to knock into Virgil's leg but looked like he was being careful of something else too, wincing as he moved.

"Are you hurt John? More than just that cut on your head I mean." Virgil propped himself up on one elbow, trying to look his brother in the eye.

"Hey, lay back down!" John commanded sternly. "Probably just a few bruised ribs. Nothing to worry about."

"'Probably'? What if they're not just bruised. If they're broken you need to stay completely still."

"Well, that's not going to happen right now. And if you disturb that splint because you keep wriggling I'm not going to redo it for you."  John warned. "You're the one with the broken leg, remember."

Virgil lay back down somewhat huffily. John was right in that respect, which made him even more infuriating. Virgil needed to keep his leg as still as possible. They had managed to stop the bleeding for now, but had limited supplies if it started again. 

"Yes, but my leg isn't going to pierce my lungs if I'm not damn careful." Virgil had to content himself with muttering.

John rolled his eyes, still bent  - stiffly – over his communication-device-disguised-as-a-fairly-expensive-watch. "Depends how much moving you do, really doesn't it."


	3. Chapter 3

John tinkered for maybe half an hour. Virgil kept quiet for as long as possible to let him concentrate. Virgil could strip, clean and rebuild an engine quicker than any of the others, but micro circuits were not usually his thing. He could do it if he had to, but this was really John's element and he thrived on code and capacitors.

The silence ate at Virgil though, as much as the cold did and he felt the need to talk as a distraction. He was shivering constantly now, icy tendrils wrapped around his limbs and  creeping in to his veins. He could see it was having a similar affect on John in the way his fingers fumbled in their delicate work and the way he was having to be careful that this moisture from his breath didn't mist onto the intricate circuits.

Virgil broke the silence.

“What were we meant ……  to see at this fancy observatory that we couldn't …… see at home, anyway?” Speech halting as he shivered.

“More.”

“More?”

“Yes. The unique combination of geology means a lot less electrical interference, so the images from the deep space telescopes are 0.7% clearer.”

“Wow. 0.7% eh?”

“I know, amazing right?” John either ignored or didn't notice Virgil's sarcasm. More likely he was ignoring it. One of the little known traits of people from large families was being able to ignore a jibe from an annoying sibling.

“I'm done” John  said at last “We'll have maybe a twenty second flare.”

“That's…. not very ….. long.”

The other sighed. “I know, but it's the best I can do. It's not exactly like I have a lot of resources.” He rubbed his eyes, strained from the intense work in difficult conditions. “How are you doing?”

“Peachy.” Virgil was clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Here, sit up a bit.” John helped Virgil lift his shoulders, trying to keep his lower body still. It took a bit of shuffling and a few painful grunts from the both but when they were finished Virgil was resting against John instead of the hard packed floor. John had the dubious honour of leaning against the one wooden wall that would be only marginally less cold than the others.

“Any better?”

Virgil knew that John was objectively speaking not very warm, but subjectively it was like leaning against a furnace. 

“Much. Thank you. I'm not ... hurting your ribs am I?” Virgil twisted to try and look at his brother, but could really only see an ear.

“Not if you. Sit. Still.” John replied through gritted teeth, his ear clearly expressing both pain and exasperation.

Virgil sat back, reluctantly but gratefully leaning into John's wiry frame to share what little warmth theu had, tucking John's coat tightly around them both. 

“How long until we were…. due to be  ...picked up?”

“Maybe another four hours. Obviously less if they get reports from the observatory about the avalanche. How's the pain?"

"Can you do anything about it?"

"No."

"Then let's not discuss it." Virgil had a headache pounding behind his eyes. He had been unconscious for a little while so that was probably the source. Various bumps and bruises promised to restrict his movement in about twenty four hours, but fortunately he thought he had only one brake. Unfortunately his  femur had moved enough to pierce the skin before John had carefully moved it back into it's rightful position. They had done what they could with the contents of their pockets but there was nothing to negate the sharp stab of torn muscle or the deep ache of a broken bone. The rudimentary setting had caused Virgil to shout and swear and sweat  and he wasn't going to put himself through that again.

“Shit it's cold. I wish I was in my uniform.” John spoke softly, trembling at his back, perhaps hoping Virgil couldn't hear. But he could hear everything. This space was only slightly longer than they were tall, and not high enough to stand. There was no hiding here. 

This hadn't been International Rescue business so they had come in their civvies. That meant that John's thin yet strong and perhaps more importantly heavily insulated space suit was hanging up in his wardrobe at home.

“If we're wishing for.... things I could do with a heater.” 

Now that John was behind him Virgil couldn’t see his expression, but guessed it held some level of amusement as he said “I think I'm going to need bigger pockets for all the things.... I have suddenly decided are essential.”

"Like what?"

"A snow shovel. Rope. An inflatable tent. A shot of morphine. Spare processors. An actual flare gun. A thermal blanket. No, two thermal blankets." John listed. 

"Do you …. want your jacket back?"

"No, you keep it." It went unsaid that Virgil was in more danger right now: he was the only one who had lost blood and that could be the difference between life and death. John did snake his arms around though, so they were crossed over Virgil's chest, hand under the jacket that was the only insulation they both had.


	4. Chapter 4

Virgil dreamt he was standing on a hillside, wondering at the majesty of the scenery. He had the familiar presence of John beside him, joining in the hike before whatever business up at the observatory that brought John here started. 

The dream skipped and they were now within throwing distance of the relief lodge they would rest in before finishing their walk. A warm drink and a sit down waited for them.

The dream skipped again this time to the moments before the wall of raging ice hit. John shouting something. Them reaching for each other. Running for the lodge. Being swept up, clinging for each other. Hitting something and the snap of breaking bone. He was reaching out, striving for something, anything to anchor them to. Heart pinched with the fear of being separated. White swirling all around them like solid fog. He couldn't reach... he couldn't find.....

"Virgil! Wake up! Arrggnuh!" John's voice penetrated his dream and Virgil jolted awake. He was breathing deep through the fear of his nightmare, John clearly had been trying to hold his flailing arms still but failing: Virgil felt one fist hit a packed snow wall and his elbow connect with something softer before his eyes were fully open.

"Sorry" Virgil panted, recognising that the reality was just as bad as his unconscious mind had showed him. Caught in an avalanche, buried in a snow drift, leg broken and bleeding, trapped without an effective form of communication.  It was selfish to be glad that someone was with him, but Virgil knew that he would definitely be having a panic attack by now if he was alone. 

"I must have drifted off for a second. John?" There was no reply, just the sound of uneven and painful breathes over his shoulder. 

 "John?" 

"I'm.... o.....k" he gasped. Virgil could hear the lie and wouldn't accept it.

"Bullshit. Talk to me."

".... caught.... my.... ribs......They......were …....definitely …... broken."

"Crap. I'm so sorry John." Virgil tried to rise some more, to twist around and see his brother for himself, but a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Don't... move... " John was gasping with every word. "Not.... your.... fault..... .... give...... me a ….. minute."

Virgil clenched his fists to keep them still, wanting to beat on the walls in frustration, to call out for help. He knew that would be fruitless, their earlier digging revealing nothing but hard pack ice on every side except the one that was formed of the wooden lodge wall. 

Hearing the thunder of a heartbeat, Virgil couldn't tell if it was his brother's echoing through his chest or his own. Either way it was far too fast. He gathered John's hands in his, resting them on his chest and squeezing in a slow rhythm, trying to calm and sooth them both.

John's breaths slowed slightly but were still hitched and painful, he hands clutching onto Virgil and shivering heavily. They told a story of moving bone, internal damage, possibly even that pierced lung. There was nothing to be done however so Virgil didn't ask. 

Virgil wanted to shift, to ease the pressure he must be placing on John's chest but he didn't want to make it worse. He didn't want to give up the scant comfort of leaning into his brother, when his presence was such a comfort. The fire in his leg consumed his attention, and he had never wished more fervently for actual fire. He could feel his pulse in it which was..... good, he supposed. It would be bad if he lost circulation but that didn't mean he was glad that his nerves throbbed with every heartbeat. Any further shift in his wound would be bad. Very bad. So another reason to rest where he was, head resting against John's collarbone.

Who coughed. A wet cough. And spat something to one side. Virgil refused to turn and look – he didn't want to see if John was coughing up blood that could even now be filling his lungs. Virgil didn't want to know if his nightmare had just killed his brother.


	5. Chapter 5

Do you remember....

There had been lots of that in the last hour. Dredging up memories between them that were warm and comforting in a way their surroundings were not. Of their brothers, their friends, their parents. Lives they had saved. Ways they had made a difference. 

Their trembling was intense now. For Virgil it reverberated through his leg as painful spasms. He might be worried about frostbite to his hastily bandaged wound but he had a nagging feeling that wouldn't be a concern one way or the other. They would either be rescued long before then, or long after. For John his shivers caused his breaths to shorten again: something was seriously wrong there. 

Do you remember... 

The family meals. The nights by the pool. The first time they stood in their respective Thunderbirds. Things to hold on to as they waited. Virgil talked because he had to in order to stay awake – cold sapping his strength in a way hard work and heavy lifting never did. He talked because John couldn’t, not with a probably-punctured lung. 

"I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"For your..... ribs."

"I'm ….. sorry...... we're..... here.....if..... I..... hadn't..."

"Let's not.... do that." Virgil interrupted. He had just wanted John to know.... but now was not the time to dwell on blame. Even if he started it. It didn't make sense. He wasn't thinking clearly. But he didn't want John to feel bad. He wanted to protect him. Even if he couldn't.

He wanted to stop hurting. Wanted to stop the ache from the cold. Stop the cold in his bones. Stop the bone in his leg piercing. Stop the piercing pain that he was trying to ignore. Huh, he's bones were pushed out, John's were pushed in. On average they were ok. He should tell John. John would like that.  He wanted to sleep. He feared sleep. He hoped John was awake. He hoped John was resting. 

Virgil realised he had gone quiet, his spinning scattered thoughts trailing off. He tried to bring them back to the present and wondered how long he had been drifting. A long time he hoped. Virgil was grateful for each moment that passed because that was another moment of survival. The whole world became the white, slightly shining walls around him and the sound of his brothers shallow breathes on his neck.

Virgil thought there may never be anything else  again but this small cold prison when it started to shake.

"Another..... avalanche." John whispered with dread. He was still awake. 

"No.....VTOL."

There was no way in hell that Virgil would not be able to recognise his own engines. Not even buried under however damn much snow and confused with the cold. Those engines were the sound of hope, of life to so many people, and it had never occurred to Virgil that he might be one of them. 

He felt John fumbling, reaching for his communication device, their high tech flare gun. 

"You sure that it will get past..... the interference from this amazing...... 'unique geology'."

"I'm........ sure......they....... just....... have...... to...... be...... close....... enough."

"How close?"

"Two...... hundred..... feet...... maybe."

John's hand could barely grip the watch and it took three attempts to push the button that emitted the pulse. It lit up briefly and then went dark, circuits shorting out with the load John had wired through them.

Then all they could do is wait some more. 


	6. Chapter 6

Virgil was drifting in and out. His leg was painful and numb at the same time, too cold to shiver even. He was still trying to talk but he didn't know if he was making sense. John wasn't responding any more. His breathing was very shallow and as cold as Virgil was John had no coat and was pressed against the side of their icy prison. 

They were nearly out of time, it wasn't going to be long before..... a chunk of ice fell into Virgil's face. Then another. Then one landed on his leg and he discovered it _did_ still have feeling because that _hurt._ More chunks fell and Virgil covered his face, trying to tamp down the fear that they were about to be buried alive. 

There was no crushing death though, no intense weight pressed on his chest. Instead a hole opened above him and the bright daylight revealed how dim it had really been in their sanctuary-come- tomb. It was briefly blocked by a silhouette.

"I've found them" A familiar voice called. "We'll need to hoist them out. And get the thermal blankets Alan."

Virgil drifted out again, which might have been just as well for it spared him any pain as his brothers maneuvered in the tight space to get him to the surface. 

"John" he managed to get out "He's not.... breathing well."

"We know. Gordon's getting him now." That was Scott, placing warming packs around him, an insulated blanket replacing John's coat and the smooth pull of morphine easing his pain. It distracted him for a time until he found himself on one of the med beds in Thunderbird 2. He had never seen it from this angle before and he was struck by how big the machine really was  - the walls were far enough away to be nearly out of sight and the ceiling was in the heavens. Or maybe that was the contrast with the confinement in which he had spent the last few hours. Or maybe the drugs. Probably the drugs. 

On an adjacent bed lay John. Pale. Still. An oxygen mask across his face. Virgil tried to sit up but was pushed down again, this time by a different brother. Why was everyone constantly doing that?

"Easy Virgil." Gordon said. "We've got him. As soon as you are both settled we'll be taking off.  So do me a favour and lay still. The sooner you do the sooner we can go." 

Virgil did as instructed. There was nothing else for it. 


	7. Chapter 7

It was almost four days before they were both awake at the same time. Virgil had only needed one pin in his leg and an extra pint of blood. John needed surgery to move two of his six broken ribs out of his lung cavity. Between the surgeries, the sedation and the check ups it took them a while to get into sync.

Two patients with such injuries wouldn't usually have been put in the same room, but a combination of Scott's natural charm and the reputation of International Rescue bent a few rules. There was a mostly constant flurry of family members in and out the room: partly for security and partly to ease their own worry. The doctors had to order them out at night to ensure the two were given time to rest, which gave the opportunity for the first private conversation since their rescue.

"How's the leg?" John asked, fiddling with the line that was still feeding fluid into his arm.

"About the same as your ribs probably." Virgil was being very, very careful not to move it. Not to avoid pain right now but to avoid disrupting any of the surgeons' careful work. "I'm sorry about that by the way." 

"I told you before, don't worry." John shifted slightly with a small wince, which didn't do much for Virgil's guilt.

"But if I'd had a bit more control you wouldn't be in nearly as bad a state." Virgil stated.

"And if I hadn't wanted to go to that damn observatory this wouldn't have happened in the first place." John countered.

"You can't blame yourself for an avalanche!" 

"Then you can't blame yourself for a bad dream."

"You were the one who managed to send a signal to get us out."

"You were the one who managed to pull us behind that hut – we would have been swept away otherwise."

Virgil  didn’t remember that, though he supposed it could be possible. They had been running, and what with all the confusion..... maybe John was telling the truth and maybe John was just trying to make him feel better. Virgil knew better than to ask: John was a master at giving away no more than he meant to, a key skill when trying to keep a rescuee calm when all might not be going to plan. And as much as he might hate the thought his brother was lying it _did_ make him feel better.

Realising they were at an impasse – neither would let the other accept blame or go without due credit – Virgil decided to leave it. He would lie back and do everything the doctors said to get out of there as soon as possible. He wasn't about to start an argument about stubbornness when it was that stubbornness that had kept them both alive.

They were told they were lucky: no hypothermia, no infection, no pneumonia, no frostbite. Battered and bruised,  with mild concussion and low body temperatures but they walked away from the hospital a few days later. Sort of.  Virgil used crutches and John couldn’t lower himself into a chair without assistance, but they walked away to fly another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading - I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I'm not very happy with the end: this is about my fourth attempt and am now getting frustrated so wrapped up somewhat hastily. If I ever come up with something better I may re-write it but for now..... all comments are welcome!


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